Page 38 of Song of Night

“Are you okay?” Asher asks softly, looking down at me, brow furrowed.

I hadn’t even noticed him at my shoulder. His concern just twists the knife even deeper. I don’t want his concern or his pity. He’s made it clear there is nothing between us. So, I just nod my head, a sharp jerk of the chin, and keep walking.

Jaylen stops in front of a small wooden hut made from branches and vines woven together. An old man sits in a woven chair beneath a small overhang that serves as a porch. He is about as gnarled as the thorn trees, with skin to match. Tufts of white hair poke out beneath a small brown cap over his head. His ears are slightly pointed at the tips.

“Elden, greetings.” Jaylen inclines her head. “These are the friends I mentioned. They are in need of weapons to cross the Waste.”

The old man, Elden, stares up at me for a moment, then turns his gaze to Asher. His eyes are a startling green as bright as the moss along the forest floor. “Aye,” he grunts. “Though they seem to possess a fair amount of magic that will be of better use to them than any blade.”

“The magic is unpredictable of late,” Jaylen says. “Best to have a back-up.”

Elden grunts again and rises slowly from his chair. “That be true.” He shoots me a suspicious look, and Asher, too. “Wait here. Let me see what I’m willing to part with. It won’t come cheap.”

Jaylen rolls her eyes. “You know I’m good for it.”

The old man grumbles and shuffles into his hut.

“I’m going to step over there and get you some food,” Jaylen says. “Be right back.”

I watch her as she walks to a small fire around which three people sit. They shoot us glances as Jaylen approaches, but they don’t seem quite as begrudging about offering assistance as old Elden. A man gets out of his seat and helps Jaylen ladle soup into two small wooden bowls, placing a large hunk of bread into each one.

When she returns and passes a bowl to each of us, Asher starts to shake his head, but Jaylen makes a low sound in her throat and shoots him a pointed look. Apparently the Daemonium are not well-regarded here. He takes the bowl without another word and we follow Jaylen to a bench made of logs not far from the fire. We both begin to eat, me far more hungrily than him, since he’s had plenty of my blood.

As we eat, one of the men by the fire starts to play music on a small hand pipe. The notes rise into the air along with the smoke, sweet and melancholy both. I can’t remember the last time I heard music, or saw people just sitting around relaxing. Not gearing up for battle or huddling in dark alleyways or calling on magic that might kill them.

I eat my food too quickly, my stomach still growling. Without saying a word, Asher places his piece of bread into my bowl. His kindness makes me want to slap him. I want to be angry with him so badly. But I’m too hungry to be stubborn about it, so I devour the second piece of bread, feeling much better for having had it.

Meanwhile, the pipe player has changed beats to a melody with a fast tempo. Two of the women get up and hook their arms together and begin laughing and dancing around the fire. A couple other people join, and one drags Jaylen out to join them. I expect her to protest, my sister who is the secret leader of the rebels of Night, renowned and worshipped like a goddess. But she just grins and allows herself to be swept along into the merriment.

A strange sensation moves through my chest as I watch them. A feeling of joy mingled with deep, deep sorrow. My whole body goes rigid as I watch. I have never witnessed this kind of carefree behavior, and so I never even imagined it could exist. I have known nothing but the constant danger and darkness in my city.

Night holds my heart and my soul. All of it. Or so I thought, until this very moment. Because watching these people makes me realize I know nothing of this world. Nothing but my tiny, tiny corner of it. I realize with deep certainty, as I watch them, that I want to see what else lies beyond the walls of my prison. How far does Aureon stretch? What other kinds of people and beasts wander it?

And most importantly, who am I when I am not trapped within the boundaries I have always known?

“You don’t like the music?” Asher asks softly, startling me from my thoughts.

My brows shoot up. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you were frowning.”

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

“Anything I should worry about?”

He shoots me a look of concern, and once again I feel those tiny cracks working through my heart.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” I say, standing.

I leave my bowl on the log and turn to go check on the old man who’s gathering our supplies. Inside the hut, I can hear clanging and banging as Elden sorts through weapons. I don’t intend on trying to rush the man, but I also don’t want to sit with Asher any longer.

A couple minutes later, he finally emerges with three small steel daggers, a large battle axe, and several small, fat brown sticks. I eye the latter with an apparent question on my face, because Jaylen walks up behind me and says, “Flares. In case we need a distraction.”

“You light them with flame or magic,” Elden adds, pointing to small strings at the ends of each one.

I don’t want to think about the kind of creatures we’ll need to distract with flares. Just the memory of the thing that attacked us on the way across the Waste makes me shiver. But I remind myself that my sister has made this voyage many times.

“Thank you, Elden,” I say, and Asher, who has joined us, adds his thanks as well.

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